


Drown (Try Nine Times)

by littlesnowpea



Series: until your breathing stops [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Little Less Sixteen Candles (Music Video), Five Years Later, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick wonders when he’ll ever be allowed to stop seeing these things happen again and again. He wonders if he’ll ever be afforded the fucking privilege of forgetting any of these things, if only for a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown (Try Nine Times)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts).



> This is set five years after Don't Be Afraid (You're Already Dead). It deals with the aftermath of the Sangsue, after they have dissolved.
> 
> This fic deals heavily with the issue of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. This could be triggering for people. There are several detailed scenes of violence that may also be triggering. If you think either of these will upset you, it's ok, I'm not mad. Take care of yourself.
> 
> Patrick does not deal with his experiences and the problems that have resulted from them in a healthy way at all. Like 90% of what he does you should never do ever at all. Just want you to know that. It's not a good idea.
> 
> Title from "Drown" by Tyler Joseph.

It’s been kind of a blur, and to be honest, Patrick’s not sure it’s really over sometimes. The Sangsue had been around most of his life, and even when they weren’t strong, he knew about them. They’d existed for ages, since he was a child, and for them to just.....go is still kind of unbelievable.

Patrick knows it’s the same for most of the others. Especially Brendon. For fuck’s sake, Brendon wasn’t aware of the Sangsue when he was human (the Sangsue no-human policy was serious) and his entire turned life has been persecution and fear, only for it to suddenly be safe.

Well, safer. Brendon’s not going to get warm welcomes, that’s for sure, but he also won’t be tortured and murdered on sight. It’s something. 

Patrick himself has far more PTSD than he cares to admit. They all do. Linda can’t shake losing everyone in her original pack, Meagan can’t shake her captivity, Brendon can’t shake his almost-execution, Pete can’t shake the Sansgue attack that destroyed his high-profile family. They all have something that follows them no matter what they do. 

Patrick has several somethings and sometimes it’s hard to breathe knowing they’re all there, knowing there are things following him he hasn’t even told Pete about and doesn’t plan to, despite their ten years. Andy knows. Well, he doesn’t know what happened, but he can see it choking Patrick, and Patrick knows it’s just a matter of time before Andy tells Pete. 

Patrick can’t really decide if he’d be angry or relieved.

The drowning-choking thing happens a lot when he’s faced with the harsh reminders of what the Sangsue have left behind-which is often, lately.

See, the regular world has realized the work Pete and his clan did to help the turned throughout the Sangsue’s reign, and the turned they saved are coming out of the woodwork to thank them. Human governments and dignitaries and even other very notable Sires and alphas want to “officially” thank them, and it’s gets to be a lot. 

They’re on the way back home from the latest event they were required to attend- Pete and himself, Sarah, and Linda this time, Zack coming only to drive them there and back. Pete’s of the opinion-and everyone fervently agrees-that the less faces there are attached to the clan, the better. At least until they’re _sure_ the Sangsue are gone. 

Patrick’s hand is in Pete’s like he wanted it to be all evening, but couldn’t for fear of the reaction. Everyone knows Pete is mated to his Viscount, but knowing and having visual confirmation are two very different, very dangerous things. Pete’s thumb is rubbing gently down Patrick’s wrist, and Patrick’s gaze is stuck out the window, at the scenery flashing past in the dawn.

“You ok?” Pete murmurs, much more attentive than Patrick would actually like him to be.

“Yes,” Patrick replies, after a moment. He knows Pete can tell it’s a lie, but he also knows his tone makes it clear the discussion will happen later.

“Ok,” Pete answers, confirming Patrick’s thoughts. “When we’re home.”

Patrick nods, almost imperceptible, and gently squeezes Pete’s hand, trying desperately to keep his mind here instead of years ago, with his younger self at the hands of the Sangsue. 

\--

Andy takes one look at him once they’re through the door and his face falls. Patrick grits his teeth, knowing that it means he’s not hiding it nearly as well as he needs to, and the date of all of this completely falling apart is approaching. 

Patrick’s not stupid. He knows ignoring everything and pretending he’s fine will only work short term. It’s going to go wrong, and it’ll probably be bad, but he can’t bring himself to care when the alternative is talking about things he has literally never said out loud.

 _Christ,_ he’s exhausted. He can’t sleep because all he has is nightmares, and those wake Pete up and he can’t deal with questions. He relies heavily on Andy’s willingness to give him energy charms and hide his exhaustion under a glamor. He knows he’s starting to scare Andy, but he honestly has no choice. 

Sort of. 

He has no choice he’s willing to make. 

Everyone else has gone to bed, which is a relief. Patrick only has to smile and pretend to Andy and Joe before he can get to bed and pretend to sleep to avoid talking about this with Pete. 

Patrick wonders sometimes how he can be a Mage and still make obviously terrible mental health decisions on a daily basis.

Andy looks him up and down before Patrick follows Pete upstairs and sighs.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” he says softly, and Patrick nods quickly before slipping away and hurrying to their bedroom.

\--

It’s like clockwork. Patrick waits until Pete’s been snoring for at least a half hour before creeping away, back downstairs, where Andy finds him sitting in the lobby. Andy will sigh and Patrick won’t speak until Andy gives him coffee, wraps and arm around him, and asks him to _“please, please tell someone.”_

Patrick says he will, they go back to silence, Andy goes back to bed until the evening when everyone starts to wake. Then, Andy gives Patrick the two spells on the condition that he talks to Pete, Patrick says he will again, Patrick slips back to bed before Pete stirs, considers telling him, and decides against it.

It’s a vicious fucking cycle and Patrick hates it. 

Today, Patrick breaks it.

He doesn’t go to the lobby, just kind of collapses on the stairs, head falling to his knees before he actually begins to cry for the first time in a long time, fighting to breathe and to cry without making noise. He doesn’t know how long he sits there until Andy finds him.

“Patrick, fuck,” he sounds fucking heartbroken and wraps Patrick in a hug. “Patrick, please, you’re killing yourself. Please. It’s not going to go away until you say something, and I _know_ you know it.”

“I can’t,” Patrick says hoarsely, fighting another shuddering sob. “I can’t go there again.”

“You’re going to keep going there until you let it go,” Andy says fiercely. “And you’re not going to let it go until you _tell someone._ ”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Patrick whispers. Andy stiffens.

“No, but I’ve got a damn good idea,” he argues. “More than anyone, you know that. I’m a magic, too. I know every possible thing you could he hiding, everything that happened to magics because of the Sangsue, and in every single one of those situations, I’m fucking telling you it’s better to talk.”

“I _know,_ ” Patrick says, voice cracking. “I-I know. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Andy sounds desperate. “Tell me why not.”

“A lot of reasons,” Patrick confesses. “Like Pete will blame himself. Like I don’t need to complain when Brendon almost _died._ Like-”

“Patrick,” Andy begs. “None of those matter. You know they don’t. I know you’re scared, but fucking hell, you’re dying in front of me and I swear to god I won’t let you do this!”

Patrick hears his and Pete’s bedroom door open and he scrambles up, pushing Andy away to run quietly down the stairs, away from the possibility of _Pete overhearing!_

He gets to the lobby and heads for the door, intent on getting out, into the sun, where Pete can’t fucking chase him.

“Patrick.”

Patrick underestimated how much power Pete’s voice has over him.

He stops.

“Look at me.”

Patrick grits his teeth, forcing his eyes to open and he turns around. Pete’s a few stairs up, dark eyes serious and locked on Patrick. His face doesn’t do emotions, not always, but now it does and all Patrick can see is worry. 

“Pete, I-”

A deafening explosion drowns out everything he was going to say, and the world goes blindingly bright before it goes black. 

\--

Patrick’s ears are ringing.

It’s loud and insistent and any other sounds are completely muted. He blinks groggily and looks up, to where Pete should be, but he’s not there. Patrick’s not even there anymore and he squints through the broken lenses of his glasses to see one of the number one scenes from his nightmares unfolding in front of him.

No, no he’s not asleep, he’s awake, so this cannot be happening, this cannot be real, and yet- it is, it has to be. Every detail is there in vivid technicolor, playing out like it happened yesterday instead of more than twenty years ago.

He can’t hear anything, but he doesn’t need to. He knows what happened by heart. He knows what they said by heart, he repeated it every damn day and he can never make it stop. He doesn’t need the sound-his mind fills it in for him.

“Restrain the child,” the vampire orders, and Patrick sees himself, he sees him at seven fight against the wolf that grabs him. He sees the tears run down his face and he clenches his fist hard. 

“Leave her alone!” Patrick mouths along with his seven year old self, feeling the panic in his chest building like he can actually do something besides watch helplessly this time.

_I fought so hard, Pete. I tried with everything I had in me._

Patrick cuts his gaze to the left and sure enough, the bodies of the rest of his childhood coven were piled there, every adult lying motionless. He doesn’t look to the right, because he knows all he’ll see is the three other children, who agreed to go with the Sangsue when their parents did, and he knows the adult part of him will understand when the child part of him only felt anger.

“Your son, Mage,” the vampire is taunting now, and Patrick knows without looking who he’s talking to, but he looks anyway. He looks like watching will be different this time. “He’s crying for you, look. Watch him, Mage, watch carefully.”

Patrick screams with everything in him when two other vampires begin dousing his mother with gasoline. He cries and screams along with him as a child, watching himself fight furiously like he’s an adult three times his size, and watching it not matter one bit.

“Mommy!” child Patrick wails, and adult Patrick blinks back tears and breathes out a hoarse _Mom._

“Patrick, be still,” his mother says softly, and adult Patrick shakes his head furiously even as child Patrick complies. “Be still, and don’t you ever forget how to be good.”

 _“Mom, no,”_ Patrick sobs desperately, watching himself nod and try and reach for her. _“Mom, I need you. I’ve always needed you, how could I ever have been still?”_

“I love you, Patrick,” his mother says softly, and the vampire snorts derisively. Both Patricks nod and adult Patrick lets out a hoarse sob as the wolf drags child Patrick forward, to grab his mother’s hand.

“I love you, Mommy,” his words are almost drowned out by the loud bark of laughter from the surrounding Sangsue, and Patrick is thrown to the ground as the lead vampire approaches with the torch. 

Patrick starts screaming and fighting again, but adult Patrick is numb, numb from watching this too many times, frozen with the overwhelming sorrow that always accompanies this memory. The wolf yanks on Patrick’s hair and the vampire smiles, dead and cold.

“Watch, little Patrick,” he taunts. “Watch and learn why you’re called _burners._ ”

Patrick screams.

\--

Vision is slow to come back to Patrick, floating in and out, blurry and almost incomprehensible. Smoke is acrid in the air, and his ears are still ringing. He feels blood, warm and sticky, drip down his face.

Everything hurts. 

Frantic voices are barely audible, muffled by the constant ringing, and Patrick flinches violently as he feels something fly over him and explode mere feet away, throwing heat and glass and debris at him before he can even think about coordinating himself enough to move away. 

Shouts and movement on his peripherals are not enough to keep him awake, though, and all he can do before he’s lost again is whisper _Pete._

\--

He’s sixteen this time, and Patrick wonders when he’ll ever be allowed to stop seeing these things happen again and again. He wonders if he’ll ever be afforded the fucking privilege of forgetting any of these things, if only for a day.

He’s sitting on the floor, feet from the bed they’re holding him down on, and he knows this scene almost more intimately than he knows how it felt to watch his mother burn alive. He doesn’t need to watch to remember what happens where, what they said, or even what they fucking smelled like.

They smelt like unwashed dogs, and Patrick doesn’t like using slurs but he feels pretty comfortable in this case. They smelt like _dogs_ and they looked _insane_ and even all that was not as painful or as terrifying as looking above him to see another magic smiling coldly down. 

Patrick wants to cover his ears, wants to forget this part, pretend he never begged. 

But he can’t, and he did. He did beg.

“Please don’t do this, please, _please,_ ” Patrick grits his teeth at the answering laughs. 

“You’ve asked that nearly twenty times and it’s never worked,” a wolf says with a smirk. “I’d save your energy.”

 _“Mage,”_ Patrick tries, and the magic slaps him into silence. 

“Only magics call me Mage,” she spits. “You’re not a magic. You’re useless anti-Sangsue trash, and you should be thankful we’re going so easy on you.”

“Easy” is not a word Patrick would apply to his bruised and bloody face.

“Now,” the Mage says darkly. Patrick hears the tazer and gives up, covering his face with his hands and gritting his teeth until the other him stops screaming, body flinching at the ghost memory of the repeated electric shocks and nausea building as the oh-so-familiar scent of his own skin burning hits him. 

_He screamed because it hurt, at the beginning, and then he kept going hoping someone would come, but eventually, no more sound would come out of him, not even a whimper as the wolves keep up with the relentless shocks._

Patrick knows this is the part where he passed out, because one wolf looks up uncertainly at another, and both look to their leader, who’s glaring at the Mage.

“You said it would work, burner,” he says coldly, and Patrick looks up with a vindictive smirk. He doesn’t look at the other him, just watches to see what happens to the Mage-he never got to find out. “It’s been hours.”

_Has it?_

“You’re not trying hard enough,” the Mage is lying through her teeth and Patrick’s never wished ill on anyone like he wishes ill on her right now. The wolf snarls and raises a fist before the door is kicked in violently. 

“We’ve listened to screaming for two hours, we are fed up!” someone shouts. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it do-”

There’s dead silence.

“What are you doing with him, you pieces of _shit?”_ Patrick sags with relief-he knows this voice, he knows the two faces of the wolves that carried him out of there, and every time they show up he cries because it’s almost over.

For now.

 _Pete,_ he thinks desperately, even as he watches the two wolves effectively throw the others off Patrick, one of them scooping him up as the other bares his teeth, eyes dark and furious. He’s starting to realize that something has happened in the waking world, and he hurries to spit this out before he’s woken up. _Pete I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hid so much from you. I should have told you sooner. I should have told you that the Sangsue burned my mother. I should have taken you up on your offer and told the whole story about the Harvests. I should have told you and I’m sorry. I love you, Pete. I love you._

\--

Someone is touching him.

“Is this what you want, _Sire?”_ whoever is speaking says title like it’s dripping with sarcasm. “There’s more of you than we thought, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think it’ll matter since this is better than expected.”

“You don’t want to do this,” Sarah’s voice is low and dead serious. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Why, is your Mage going to be mad I’m touching one of your magics?” the voice replies tauntingly. “I invite him to try and stop me.”

Something is at his _throat_ and Patrick can’t really make anything move, is barely conscious, but he knows Sangsue trash when he hears it, and this is not it.

This is someone who wants to be Sangsue but is far too inexperienced and clumsy. Their lack of research into Pete’s clan before attacking is evidence enough.

Patrick feels his magic, a little distant because of the shock of the explosions, and beckons it closer, steeling himself for the uncomfortable flare of pain that happens every time magic is summoned before it’s ready. 

“I’m not talking to you, anyway, I’m talking to the male Sire,” the voice continues, and Patrick can hear the self-satisfied smirk. “The one looking at me like he’s ready for murder but hasn’t moved. For some reason.”

Patrick feels the knife- it must be a knife, it’s sharp and metal-press closer to his throat and he doesn’t have to look to know Pete’s tensed further. 

He borrows a little magic to steal a glimpse of the room without opening his eyes and he is immediately torn between laughing and groaning.

Laughing because there’s four fake-Sangsue who obviously feel like they’re totally in control despite facing two Sires, an alpha, another very angry werewolf, and a furious magic. 

Groaning because they have himself and Brendon held at knifepoint, clearly trying to make some sort of point. 

What the point is, Patrick will never know, but he is glad Sarah is here because he knows Pete is in no way rational enough right now. 

He could shock the vampire holding him easily enough, but he’s not sure he’s fast enough on a good day to get to Brendon before his captor reacts, let alone now when he feels barely alive. 

He could shock Brendon’s captor through Brendon because he knows Brendon will understand and forgive him, but that requires physical contact with Brendon, and he’s a good two feet away. 

“Don’t come closer, Sire,” Asshole One warns, tightening his grip on Patrick. “You’ve heard our demands.”

“Should we wake this magic up and see if he’ll tell us where your Viscount is?” another voice chimes in and Patrick barely stops the hysterical laughter that wants to escape at that. 

Did-did these idiots really know _nothing_ about this clan? This is an attack to try and win points with whatever scraps are left of the Sangsue, Patrick can tell, and he has to admit it’s admirable that they’re trying to kidnap the Viscount to earn their Sangsue badges or whatever, but they are so hilariously unprepared it’s almost not even funny. 

“He won’t tell you,” Andy says coldly. 

“Listen, floater, everyone wants to save their own life,” the vampire holding Patrick says condescendingly. “I know your male Sire won’t say anything, even in the face of two clan deaths, because of the _mating_ thing he has going on, but trust me when I say that this burner will spill all at the threat of a match.”

Fucking _assholes._

“Hey, hey there, feral,” the other voice coos, laughing at something. “Do us a favor, hmm? Wake up the burner for us, ok? Come on now. Just reach out and shake his shoulder.”

It’s like his birthday, Patrick swears to God. Fucking hell these assholes are morons, and morons in the best way possible for Patrick. 

Brendon’s hesitating, clearly waiting for someone in their family to direct him, and Patrick almost cries in relief when Andy speaks up, voice suddenly changed.

He can tell. He knows Patrick’s already awake.

“Yes, Brendon,” he says evenly, loudly overriding Sarah’s objection. “Sarah, no. Brendon, listen to _me._ Yes. Do what he says.”

“See?” the vampire laughs. “Now come on, antivenom. Shake his shoulder. Wake him up.”

_C’mon, Bren._

He feels Brendon’s hand on his shoulder and sends a silent but desperate apology before releasing the shock he’s been building like a whip. 

The electricity snaps loudly and the vampire behind Brendon screams in agony, stumbling back and sinking to the ground. 

Patrick’s captor skipped that step and is just slumped over, unconscious. 

Patrick staggers to regain his own balance, reaching out to grab Brendon and hold him up.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Sorry, B, sorry.”

He vaguely realizes that Sarah and Linda have cornered the other two, and Patrick releases Brendon to Spencer before gulping down air, and turning to the one he _knows_ is right there.

“You can’t handle anything without me,” he mumbles tiredly into Pete’s neck and Pete huffs out a choked laugh, fingers tightening almost painfully on Patrick’s waist. “‘S ok, Pete.”

Patrick’s so exhausted and Pete’s so relieved that their initial semi-argument is forgotten in the midst of getting rid of the fake-Sangsue intruders.

\--

The attack may have been perpetrated by fake Sangsue, but the chaos they left behind is very much real.

The lobby is pretty much unusable thanks to the Molotov cocktails they’d thrown in. They had no front door to speak of, and where there used to be windows there is now gaping holes with bits of glass. The floor, walls, and ceiling are all burned, parts of the floor burned all the way through. 

It’s a total fucking mess. 

“Fix it or move” was met with a resounding downvote on moving, so now they’re trying to determine what they can fix on their own and who they have to call to do the rest.

“Magic isn’t gonna fix all of this,” Andy says, after looking at the pieces of what used to be the foyer. “There’s nothing left to work with. Even Patrick isn’t powerful enough to re-create a door from splinters.”

“Unless we want to find most of the shards of glass left from the windows, magic is useless on that, too,” Meagan agrees. “But the burns and the cracks, those are easy enough.”

“Thankfully,” Andy agrees, and Patrick slips away silently. He’s going to help, he is, but he’s so fucking tired that he needs an energy spell before he’s anywhere near useful. 

His promise to himself that he would tell Pete hovers in the back of his mind, but he pushes it down. 

Now is far too busy. When they’ve cleaned up, then he’ll say something.

\--

“Patrick,” Andy begins, and Patrick holds up a hand.

“I am going to tell him as soon as we’re done fixing things, alright?” he says firmly. “But that is not right now.”

“Please sleep,” Andy begs softly. “Please at least sleep.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything because he’s sure Andy is tired of hearing lies. 

Andy sighs and presses his forehead to Patrick’s before giving him the energy spell he’d come for.

“I just want everything to be ok for you,” Andy whispers desperately. “Patrick, you deserve peace, why are you doing this to yourself?”

Patrick still doesn’t answer, just pulls away and walks towards the entrance hall again.

\--

It’s not working.

It’s not fucking working, this has never happened to him before, he’s never not been able to access his magic, but it’s happening now.

_It’s not fucking working._

Patrick glances behind him, reassured that no one has noticed and sighs shakily, turning to face the hole in the wall-the simple fix, all he has to do is literally just pass his hand over it and the wall will knit back together again, easy.

It’s not working. Nothing is happening. And when Patrick concentrates, he can tell his magic is out of reach. He can tell it’s closed itself off because of his exhaustion, so that he doesn’t leak it out when he inevitably can’t control it.

He fucking _hates_ when Andy is right. He turns away and heads quietly for the stairs, pausing only for a second to whisper to Pete that he’ll be right back.

He will be right back, he’s only going to their room, to sit in the dark and breathe while he figures out a way around the admittedly very large problem he has at the moment. He’s a fucking Mage, this doesn’t happen to Mages, not unless there is something seriously wrong, which there isn’t.

Because Patrick is _fine._

He slips into their room, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face before sinking tiredly onto the edge of it- Pete’s side, he realizes, and his heart skips in his chest. He reaches out before he can think better of it and pulls one of the pillows towards him, burying his face in it and inhaling deep.

It smells like Pete, it smells like _him_ and like _home_ and like _safety_ and before Patrick knows it, he’s crying. He’s crying deep, shuddering sobs into Pete’s fucking pillow and he’s never felt as low as he does right now.

He feels empty, he feels hollow, and each sob feels like it’s being ripped painfully from him. He knows his grip has gone white-knuckled on the pillow, but he can’t do anything but cling to it and wait until he finished crying.

He’s going to finish soon, Patrick swears to God he will.

\--

It’s not his mother they’re burning this time, it’s him, and the sheer rising terror in his chest threatens to drown him before they even light the fire. 

He doesn’t know how he got here-maybe the Sangsue broke in, maybe they took the family by surprise, who knows? It doesn’t fucking _matter,_ he’s here and he’s covered in gasoline and he is going to die.

He thought he’d be at peace with that, but he isn’t, he’s not at peace, he’s fighting these faceless Sangsue, whose identities are protected by shadow.

He’s not begging, but he is swearing, swearing and threatening all in the same breath, because he doesn’t matter as much as Brendon, who is tied up in the corner with most of the family, eyes wide and disbelieving, tears streaming down his face. 

_Leave him alone!_ he wants to beg, reminiscent of twenty years ago, pleading for his mother’s life, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want them to know how important Brendon is, not while a few of the family are still free and they have a hope of rescue.

Patrick doesn’t hold out much hope for himself, but he hopes that he’ll be gone before the others come for them, because one of the missing family members is Pete, and he can’t-he can’t see this. Patrick would do anything to prevent Pete watching this happen. 

“You fight so well, I’m impressed,” a vampire grabs his jaw and smirks. Patrick wants to spit, but he can’t move. “I’ve never met a magic able to fight through a shock like that.”

Patrick hopes the look on his face reads as the _go fuck yourself_ that he’s thinking right now. 

“That’s because this one’s the Mage,” another Sangsue laughs from Patrick’s right, and he doesn’t even grant them the courtesy of a glance. 

“This one?” the vampire says disbelievingly. “Thought he’d be more imposing.”

 _This is gonna fucking hurt,_ Patrick thinks, and digs down as deep as he can go to yank out the tiny bit of magic not disabled by the tazer. He uses everything, absolutely everything he has left to bring it up and shock the vampire holding him until he howls and lets go.

A Sangsue behind him swears and Patrick knows they’re reaching for the tazer without even looking.

“Don’t bother,” a woman’s voice interrupts. “He’s got nothing left. That had to hurt, didn’t it?”

Patrick glares at the approaching Mage, throwing fire and malice and every ounce of hate he has into it. She smirks and yanks on his hair, but Patrick grits his teeth, refusing to satisfy her expectations.

Sure enough, her smirk slips into a scowl and she slaps him.

He still doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t cry out. 

He will _not_ give this Mage the satisfaction of subduing another. He won’t. That would be giving up, and he cannot give up, he has to hold on because his family needs to go free. 

The Mage laughs, sudden and jarring, yanking Patrick’s hair until he’s forced to look back up at her.

“He’s so stubborn,” she says, sounding almost delighted. “He’s stubborn because he thinks we don’t know how important that feral is to him. He’s stubborn because he knows a few of them got free. Mostly, he’s stubborn because he thinks the Sire got free, and we should clear that misconception right up.”

Patrick’s heart drops right into his stomach but he says nothing. Does nothing. Prays it’s only an intimidation tactic.

Pete can’t be here. Pete cannot watch him burn to death because this might destroy Brendon but it will _kill_ Pete. 

And they know it.

A vampire shoves a cloth in his mouth, holding him still while two other Sangsue toss the rest of the gasoline on him, and Patrick thinks wildly that this can’t be real. 

It feels real. It feels like the most real thing in the world when he sees Sarah and Linda and Pete and Spencer pushed and shoved in and Patrick knows there’s no stopping what’s going to happen.

When Pete sees him, he freezes, like the air has been punched out of him and he can no longer function. Patrick grimaces and meets Sarah’s eyes desperately.

 _Don’t let him watch._

They’ve got them all immobilized, all tied down and helpless, and their terror and fury are not enough to combat the Sangsue that have every conceivable advantage. 

“See, I’d tell your Sire what I want, what our demands are, blah blah blah,” the Mage says, eyes hard. “But as it happens, I have what I want. And these lovely Sangsue have what _they_ want. They want retribution against the Sire of this clan. And I? I want your death, Mage.”

Patrick can see someone light the torch out of the corner of his eye.

“It worked out perfectly,” the Mage finishes, with a gesture. “May you all consider us even after this.”

Patrick is going to die. 

\--

Patrick wakes up gasping and choking and frantic, feeling his shirt damp with sweat and trembling far beyond anything he could ever hope to control. He fights with whatever’s got him, frantically trying to beat the familiar _can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’tbreathe_ that’s owning his lungs right now.

Whatever-whoever- has him mutters what Patrick would swear to God was _“I’m sorry”_ before they push him down and force the exposure of his neck so they can bite.

Patrick wants to scream and shove them off him, but before he can coordinate himself to do that, his entire body goes heavy. 

He forces his eyes open to see Pete, blurry but always recognizable, hovering above him. He’s running his hand though Patrick’s hair slowly, waiting for his brain to slowly figure things out.

“Pete?” he whispers, but his voice won’t work. It’s so fucking reminiscent of what happened the night Pete told him he did love him that Patrick wants to cry, but he has no energy left to even try. 

“Patrick, I’m sorry,” Pete whispers softly. “You were going to hurt yourself. You didn’t know where you were.”

Pete leans in and kisses him gently. Patrick kisses him back, breathing in deep when Pete pulls away slightly. 

He’s going to slip under, he knows it, and he struggles against it to keep holding Pete’s gaze.

“Go to sleep, Trick,” Pete whispers. “Go to sleep so that when you wake, I can figure out where you’ve gone.”

Patrick doesn’t understand, he doesn’t have the mental processes to help him understand, and he can’t fight it anymore, letting Pete’s venom take him back under and hoping it goes better. 

\--

Patrick is drifting, he can feel it. He’s hovering between sleeping and waking up but he can’t make himself go one way or another-he’s still under the influence of Pete’s venom. He doesn’t make his own choices right now.

A part of him wildly hopes he has his hat on before he firmly reminds himself that his hair doesn’t need to be covered right now, there’s no one around waiting to take advantage, his hair color can show. Besides, it’s almost his normal color again, it’d be more concerning if it was the almost-white it had been deep into the Sangsue’s reign. 

Back then, he’d been torn between hiding it all the time and not even bothering anymore because it was so obvious that he was emotionally weak. It killed him because he hated this, hated that it was easy to judge a Mage’s vulnerability by the shifts in the color of their hair. 

It wasn’t fair. What was the _point_ of being a Mage if there was such a dead giveaway for those that knew what it meant?

It doesn’t matter anymore, Patrick’s hair is almost the color it had been before he even came of age to have the shifts, they’re not in constant danger anymore. It’s alright.

Patrick wishes it was easier to tell himself that.

He’s closer to wakefulness than he was before, hovering just under the surface. If he concentrates, he can hear people talking above him.

“Oh, thank god, he finally slept?” it’s Andy, whispering. Patrick feels the crushing disappointment that Andy must always feel towards him and wants to sigh. 

“Yes and no,” Pete says finally, much closer than Andy was. He must still be there, then, right where he was when Patrick went under. Patrick’s heart skips a beat. Pete doesn’t elaborate, and Patrick is stupidly grateful. 

“He’s lucky,” Andy’s voice is wavering. “He’s so lucky he found you. Back-he’d never want me to tell you this, I know, but I think it’s important for you to hear. Back in the Academy, I was his mentor. And we knew, both of us, about halfway through his time there that he was going to be a Mage. I’d never seen him so pale, so scared. Mages from this Academy, they always were either forced into the Sangsue or killed. There was no alternative. I offered to contact his coven for him, to see if they would pull him out before graduation, but he told me it wouldn’t work.”

“He doesn’t have a coven,” Pete says, voice quiet and flat. “He was abandoned, or they died, or something. He told me when I named him Viscount and I’d asked if they would come looking.”

“I-I know,” Andy says. “You should-he’ll tell you. Later. Don’t push.”

“I’d never,” and those two words are full of simple honestly, and Patrick’s sure his eyes would be watering if he was awake. 

“Graduation was coming and I was scared, I was terrified for his life because I knew he’d never choose the Sangsue,” Andy whispers. “We’d become close, we’d become family and I couldn’t bear the thought of watching him die. Before we could do anything, the place fell apart. The Sangsue invaded, dragging children off to be put in Sangsue clans and packs, rounding up every older kid and adult and just killing them all.”

Pete swears under his breath and Andy clears his throat. 

“It was chaos, absolute chaos,” he continues. “No one expected them, some were trying to fight them off to get children out, it was panic and confusion and in all of that I searched for Patrick, in his room, in the basement, everywhere I could but he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there and there were humans coming to investigate so I knew the Sangsue would be leaving soon, and I was frantic. I didn’t see him in any of their tied up groups, he wasn’t in the Academy and I couldn’t-I couldn’t force myself to look at the bodies. I ran.”

Pete sucks in a quick breath and Patrick can feel him tangle his fingers in Patrick’s hair. 

“It must have been hell,” Pete murmurs, and Patrick knows Andy is nodding.

“When I saw you, when I saw _him,_ it had been four _years_ of thinking he was dead,” Andy chokes out. “Joe had been there for all of it, he had picked me up as I ran from the Academy that night, and I think he thought I was crazy for a moment. So did I. I tried three times to call his name before my voice actually worked and-seeing him was _everything_ to me. And you, knowing you took care of him when I couldn’t was the biggest relief I’ve ever felt.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Pete says. “He’s the one who took care of me. I had given up, I had decided there was no point anymore and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So here we are. Without him? None of this would exist.”

Andy sucks in a quick breath.

“That sounds like Patrick,” he agrees softly. “Stubborn as hell.”

Pete runs his fingers through Patrick’s hair. 

“I don’t know how lucky he is,” Pete says. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand the capacity of anything you said. I don’t think I want to understand how much danger he was in. I don’t want to imagine him hurt. But I do want to understand him because I do love him and that’s something I was totally unprepared for. I don’t know if he’s lucky. But I _know_ I’m lucky.”

Pete presses a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, and Patrick chokes, wants to reach up and drag him closer, and would if he had control of him arms. 

“Sometimes I think I dreamt him,” Pete finishes, and Patrick feels it like a knife to the chest.

\--

Patrick wakes up gradually, inhaling unconscious and exhaling conscious. It’s such a 100% difference than the way he’d woken before that he’s almost more confused for a moment. 

He feels Pete pressed up behind him, probably resting lightly, waiting for Patrick to wake up again. He can see daylight peeking in through a small crack in the blackout curtains and for the first time in a while, his fairly constant headache is muted a bit.

It’s quiet, so quiet, and that’s the only reason Patrick reacts the way he does.

“Patrick?” the name is sudden, loud, and there’s a hand on his arm and before he can process it, he’s shocking them and shoving backwards, forgetting about Pete, heart racing in his chest. 

There’s an injured yelp mixed in with Pete’s voice and Patrick snaps his eyes open, realization slamming into him like a freight train. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, and Pete squeezes his arm. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Brendon.”

He forgot, he fucking forgot, he and Brendon were going to town today, Brendon was just coming to get him, _fuck._

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, taking in Brendon’s frightened face and feeling his heart sink. Brendon’s eyes are wide and uncertain, looking all the world like a lost puppy. 

“Brendon,” Pete says firmly, but Brendon ignores him.

“Patrick?” he whispers, and Patrick hates the uncertainty he hears in his voice. Patrick exhales shakily. “Are you ok?”

Is _Patrick_ ok, Christ. That’s the first thing B asks after Patrick _attacked_ him, what the fuck.

“I’m sorry, Bren,” Patrick repeats. “I’m so sorry.”

Brendon hesitates for a second, then moves forward slowly. Patrick lets him, opens his arms and lets Brendon cling to him, taking a deep breath and sending warmth through him. 

“Sorry I scared you,” Brendon mumbles into Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick shushes him.

“No, don’t,” he tells him. “It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry, fuck.”

“Brendon,” Pete repeats. “Can you give us a minute?”

Brendon nods haltingly, and quickly retreats. The door clicks quietly behind him and Patrick buries his face in his hands. 

“Patrick,” Pete says softly. “What just happened?”

“He surprised me,” Patrick replies, voice shaking. “I woke up already confused and I didn’t expect him.”

“No, I can see that,” Pete clarifies. “What did you do?”

“Fuck,” Patrick sighs. “I shocked him.”

“Oh,” Pete says, and Patrick can read into the surprise that Pete doesn’t show. “He’s ok, Patrick.”

“I didn’t-”

“Of course you fucking didn’t,” Pete interrupts. “No one would ever think you meant to hurt him. Especially not him.”

“God _damn_ it,” Patrick scrubs his hands across his face before forcing himself to look at Pete. It’s just _Pete._ He doesn’t _need_ to be scared. This is ridiculous. He’s on the verge of tears again and he grits his teeth and wills them down.

“Trick,” Pete says, gently laying a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Trick, we need to talk.”

 _No, we don’t,_ a part of him is saying, but it won’t come out.

“I know,” he admits softly instead, the words so heavy in the air. “I know we do.” 

Pete leans in and kisses him, soft and slow, and Patrick wants to stay here forever, doesn’t want to leave and face a world he’s not entirely sure he knows how to exist in anymore. He kisses Pete back, hoping, praying, even though he knows it can’t happen. 

“After sunrise, ok?” Pete says gently. “Or earlier, if you’d rather.”

Patrick shakes his head.

“No, that’s fine,” he replies, voice a little hoarse. “I-I have to go with Brendon.”

Pete nods before kissing him again, pulling him in close and waiting, waiting for Patrick to cave.

Patrick caves, he caves like he does every single time he’s upset, and wraps himself around Pete, pressing as close as he can get because for fuck’s sake, this dumbass vampire is the only thing that’s been completely constant and he really doesn’t know what he would do without him.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Pete’s neck, and Pete drops a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you too, Patrick,” Pete says softly. “I love you, always.”

\--

The thing is, as true as Pete’s _I love you, always_ is- and Patrick knows it is, that’s indisputable- it still stings. Because, well, for a good two years Patrick felt like he was _drowning_ in his feeling, felt alone and felt low and only stuck with Pete because Pete helped the turned and helped him, and also because Patrick is kind of a masochist, apparently. 

_I love you, always._

Patrick wants to remember that, only that, and forget the two years spent in limbo, remembering the kiss he got the first night he and Pete met, the furious, almost violent kiss, and Pete leaving him in a heap on the ground. 

Which, ok. Pete wasn’t Pete then, that’s been established, But Pete never mentioned it again, never spoke about that aspect of the night, just apologized for attacking Patrick and leaving it at that.

Leaving Patrick fucking aching for two years until Pete came around, though Patrick still lives with a dark spot in the back of his mind that he’d never tell Pete about under any circumstances. A little dark spot that asks him if he’s sure.

Patrick _is_ sure, he’s never been more sure, every fucking day he knows Pete loves him. 

He can’t make that dark spot go away, and it’s joining forces with every other fucking thing that has decided to make a reappearance just when he thought he was safe, and Patrick knows this is far out of his control know.

Shocking Brendon is evidence enough. 

Patrick’s just not used to not being able to do anything. He’s been fighting hard his whole life, he’s been determined and he’s been resilient and it’s a shock to have the floor pulled out from under him like this, leaving him with nothing he can do to fix it.

“Patrick!” 

Patrick stumbles but stays upright as Brendon _launches_ himself at him, hugging him tighter than he thought he could.

“Brendon,” Patrick whispers. “Are you ok?”

Brendon smiles, though his eyes have the telltale red rims and his cheeks are splotchy enough that Patrick knows he’s been crying. 

“It’s ok, Patrick,” Brendon squeezes Patrick’s hand. “You didn’t mean to.”

Patrick catches glimpse of Spencer hovering around the corner and knows he doesn’t _mean_ the distrustful look he’s giving Patrick right now, he’s just stuck on the fact that his mate was hurt and upset and Patrick was the cause. 

Brendon pushes into Patrick’s arms again and Patrick lets him, holding him tight until Brendon’s ready to let go. 

“Is it still ok if we go?” Brendon asks, biting his lip like he’s breaking a rule. 

“Yes, Brendon,” Patrick smiles at him, and it’s not fake. Patrick can’t fake a smile at Brendon if he tried. “We have to go, anyway, and even if we didn’t, I’d still take you.”

Brendon hugs him again and sniffs.

“Gotta get my jacket,” he says, and darts off, nearly stumbling over himself as usual. 

Andy wastes no time, Brendon barely out of sight before he creeps out from where Patrick has _known_ he’s been the whole time. 

“You shocked him?” Andy asks, voice neutral but words anything but. Patrick sighs.

“Not now, Andy,” he says warningly, but Andy has never listened to Patrick when he thinks Patrick’s not doing what’s best for himself. 

“Then _when,_ " Andy asks sharply. “Never? You do have eyes, right? You do see that that isn’t working?”

“Fucking _stop,_ ” Patrick hisses, and Andy stiffens. 

“You’re a Mage,” Andy says quietly, voice thin. “But you’re still my charge, and fuck you if you think I’m letting you do this.”

“I’m talking to Pete at sunrise,” Patrick mutters. “Please stop until then, I have Brendon with me.”

“Do you think he doesn’t notice something’s wrong?” Andy snorts, and Patrick resists the urge to actually shove him. He doesn’t need to give Andy more proof. “He does notice, everyone notices, and no one thinks badly of you, Patrick. They’re just worried. I-”

“ _Andy,_ ” Patrick snaps at the same time as Joe cuts in with his own placating echo.

“Andy,” Joe says softly. “You’re not helping right now.”

“Patrick,” Andy whispers helplessly, and Patrick swallows hard before darting around and throwing his arms around Andy, squeezing before letting go and turning back around.

“Ok,” Andy replies, brushing his fingers along the back of Patrick’s neck. “Ok.”

\--

The trip to town starts out blessedly uneventful. It’s just he, Sarah, Linda, Spencer, and Brendon, thankfully, and nothing goes wrong.

It’s a relief. 

Patrick goes with Sarah to finish negotiations with the blood bank supplying them, signing the papers as Viscount so that Pete doesn’t have to come down himself. Pete was vocally objective to this plan, but Sarah, Linda, and Patrick all firmly shut him down. 

Pete has a giant fucking target on his back, the attack evidence enough of that, and since it’s clear not many people remember what the Viscount looks like, it’s safer for Patrick to come. 

It’s not Pete’s opinion, but he backed down reluctantly, though Patrick knows he told Sarah to take care of him, whatever she does.

Pete makes his chest hurt a little, but he dismisses it, telling himself that they’re going to talk, they’re going to talk later. 

He and Sarah are waiting for the final agreement to come through, sitting in the waiting room together. Patrick sees Sarah out of the corner of his eye make several aborted attempts to speak before she carefully lays a hand over one of Patrick’s.

“I love you, Patrick,” is what she eventually says, and it’s a different love by far but it hits him nonetheless. “Seeing everything you have done to keep us all afloat no matter what, watching you help Meagan until she was strong enough on her own-it still amazes me. In the beginning, I didn’t know how we would all work out but I knew you’d figure it out and you _did._ You pulled us together until we were one and you are my _family,_ Patrick. And I love you.”

Patrick meets her eyes and gives her a slightly watery smile, turning his hand to gently squeeze hers.

“Sarah, I-”

“Viscount,” the word is cold and bitter, said like it burns the mouth, and it’s been years but Patrick remembers that fucking voice like it was yesterday.

“What a surprise,” Patrick replies, voice dripping with contempt he doesn’t bother hiding. “You’re still around. Thought you would have found your home in the Sangsue, Brent.”

Patrick sees Sarah glance between him and Brent, and knows she’s confused. He glances over at her, and she narrows her eyes.

“Not quite,” Brent spits. “Though I admit, I am surprised to see you. I heard that Pete had this _special_ clan going and heard that he co ran it with another Sire, and about his mysterious Viscount but I never dreamt it would be you.”

“It’s always been me, Brent,” Patrick smirks. He doesn’t even feel bad about it. Fuck, he almost forgot how much he hated Brent. “You were even there when Pete gave the title to me.”

“I remember that very well,” Brent scowls. “I just thought you would have fucked off after you got what you wanted. I _hoped_ you’d be burned, but I guess it’s wishful thinking.”

Patrick lays a hand on Sarah’s shoulder as she bares her fangs and looks Brent up and down. He looks _terrible._ It’s fantastic. 

“You’ve gotten more cocky,” Patrick observes. “In case you’re wondering why no clan has picked you up, that would be it.”

“I hate you,” Brent hisses, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

“That is old news,” he says simply. “Can I help you? Or are you just here to try and weasel back in?”

“You can’t make decisions about who to let in, even if I was here for that,” Brent scoffs, and Patrick raises an eyebrow.

“Wanna bet?” he asks, with full confidence that yes, he actually does have that power. 

To his right, Sarah smirks.

“I have no idea who you are,” she says, standing up to stare Brent down more effectively. “And I don’t really care. But I am that other Sire you mentioned. And I don’t think I’m a fan of the way you just spoke to my Viscount.”

“We were just catching up,” Brent mutters and Patrick actually laughs.

“Oh really?” Sarah asks, voice dark. “Sounds like you just threatened him. I don’t like that. _Pete_ wouldn’t like that.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Brent lies, and Patrick snorts.

“That is _all_ you meant,” he tells him cooly. He’s done. He doesn’t care about Brent anymore. He doesn’t _have_ to care about Brent anymore. “We’ve caught up. I haven’t been burned. You still exist. I think that sums it up.”

“Patrick?”

_Fuck._

“Stay,” Patrick says sharply, and thankfully Brendon listens, stopping while he’s still out of sight. 

“Who’s that?” Brent asks sweetly, and Patrick scowls. 

“Oh use that little brain, I’m sure you’ll remember,” Patrick suggests coldly. “Spencer? Are you there?”

“Yes,” Spencer replies, and Patrick reminds himself to thank him later for the extra respect he puts in for Brent’s benefit. “Linda is on her way.”

“Good,” Patrick says simply. “Sarah, are those for us?”

Sarah glances up and meets the eyes of the intimidated looking human holding their finalized papers. She gives her her best smile, and the girl relaxes a little, crossing the room to hand the papers over.

“Thank you for, um, coming,” she stammers out before beating a hasty retreat. 

“I think we’re done here,” Sarah decides. “Viscount?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Patrick agrees, heart thumping a little and he tries to figure out how to get Brent out without him interacting with Brendon at all. 

“Ready to go, then?” Linda appears in the doorway, the alpha practically radiating off of her as she takes in the scene in front of her. “Mage?”

Patrick reminds himself to thank them all for the excessive use of titles they used to push Brent away. 

“Absolutely,” Patrick says. He stands, glancing Brent up and down once more with a disdainful look. “Enjoy yourself, Brent.”

With that, he turns and walks, confident Sarah has his back so he _can_ throw in this last dig at Brent. 

At least Brent was alone, he decides as they make it to their car and he exhales hard. 

\--

“Brent?” Brendon asks later, in the car, voice quiet and uncertain. 

“Yeah, who the hell was that, Patrick?” Linda asks, twisting around from the passenger seat. “Sarah wants to know, too. Shut up, Sarah.”

Patrick huffs a laugh at them and sighs.

“Yeah, Bren,” he tells Brendon softly. “Brent. He’s not going to come anywhere near you. I swear to God.”

“I was worried about _you,_ ” Brendon mumbles, and Patrick kisses his forehead. 

“No need,” he reassures, squeezing his hand. “Nothing will happen with him.”

“Ok,” Brendon says uncertainly, and Patrick lifts an arm for him to wiggle under and hug.

“Brent,” Patrick begins to elaborate. “Was in our original clan. Back when it started, it was just me and Pete and Ryan and Brent. He never liked me, as I’m sure you have gathered. The night we found Spencer, Brent put Brendon in blatant danger so Pete and I kicked him to the goddamn curb.”

“Oh, shit,” Spencer whispers, and Brendon slides away from Patrick and towards him, letting Spencer pull him close and hold on tight. “He was the one that told Pete that I couldn’t come, that he should send you out alone, right?”

“That’s the one,” Patrick confirms. Spencer’s face twists as he looks down at Brendon and Patrick knows he’s reliving all those terrible things he said, even though Brendon has long since forgiven him.

Patrick knows the feeling. 

Spencer kisses Brendon and Patrick glances away, furiously happy Brendon has Spencer and that he is safe and content no matter what.

That’s all he wanted.

\--

“Dealt with it,” Patrick says uselessly, for the third time. He makes shooing motions at everyone standing around and grabs Pete’s hand, abruptly stopping his furious rant. 

Pete sighs and Patrick waits until he’s met his eyes before speaking again.

“We. Dealt. With. It,” he repeats slowly, squeezing Pete’s hand on every word. “Nobody got hurt. Everything was fine. He is gone. Dealt. With.”

“What,” Pete begins, faltering a little. “What did he say?”

_Oh._

“Nothing of consequence,” Patrick says gently. “Called me a burner. He’s cocky as hell.”

Pete’s eyes flash at the slur and Patrick goes up on his toes to kiss him softly. 

“It’s ok,” Patrick mumbles against Pete’s lips. “Promise.”

“Yeah, but,” Pete sighs again. “I don’t- your other promise?”

Patrick glances out the window, and he can see the early streams of daylight filtering weakly through the trees.

“My other promise,” Patrick agrees, and follows when Pete leads him up the stairs.

They get to their room, and Pete wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate, just leads Patrick across the room in wide strides until they’re on the bed. He presses gently against Patrick, holding him as close as he dares and Patrick lets him, melts into him, relief on relief piling onto him until he can barely hold himself up, leaning on Pete with most of his weight. 

Pete’s chest shakes and Patrick knows he’s holding back a sob, a sound unfamiliar from vampires, especially Sires. The rule never seems to apply when it’s Pete and Patrick, and every time it reminds Patrick fiercely that everything is _ok._ Pete _loves_ him. 

“Pete,” Patrick says, voice hoarse from his own exhaustion. Pete buries his face in Patrick’s neck, inhaling deep before nipping carefully on Patrick’s pulse point and pulling away to kiss him. 

“That attack, the break in, was the closest I’ve come to losing you in a very long time,” Pete whispers, voice cracking. “Not just then, though that was the worst point, I admit, but just _lately._ Patrick, where do you go? You’re not here anymore.”

Patrick doesn’t know how to start.

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. His fingers dig into Pete’s arm a little, but neither of them notice- Patrick’s struggling to find words, and Pete’s just watching, forehead pressed to Patrick’s. 

_Be still, and don’t you ever forget how to be good._

Patrick thinks his mother would probably be disappointed in him.

“Patrick, please,” Pete whispers before kissing him softly. “I’m right here.”

“If I tell you,” Patrick chokes out, almost tripping on his words in the effort of saying them before he takes them back. “You have to understand, I- I’ve never told anyone any of this, Pete, and you can’t- you can’t show me anything, ok? You need to be a vampire, Pete, or I’ll never be able to finish anything I say.”

“I-”

_“Please.”_

Pete doesn’t speak for a moment, but then he tilts Patrick’s face up and kisses him chastely. 

“I promise,” those two words resonate within Patrick, and he knows that they’re true. 

He kisses Pete back, finding one of his hands and squeezing gently. Pete pulls him close and Patrick rests his head on Pete’s shoulder, face turned away so that he can gather enough strength to actually speak. 

“The night I found you,” Patrick says quietly, allowing the words to leave for the first time. “I had just been Harvested hours before. I-I knew you weren’t present and I approached you anyway.”

“And I fed from you,” Pete says, voice tinged with the hurt he can’t push away, the anger at himself. Patrick nods.

“Yes,” he admits. “But I knew you would. I approached you because I knew you would and I knew you weren’t in your right mind.”

Pete is silent.

“I did it because I wanted to die,” Patrick whispers, and Pete tenses hard. “I felt like I shouldn’t be alive, why was I alive anyway? I was a lone magic, a lone young magic, and I’d survived for a year but it was wearing on me. I was lost. I felt hopeless.”

“Why did you stop me, then?” Pete asks, and Patrick can hear the barely held back pain in his voice. Pete promised, and Pete keeps promises.

“I saw you were supposed to be a Sire,” Patrick answers softly. “I banked on you being anti-Sangsue. Something told me that this was it, this was what would change everything. So I stopped you.”

“You guessed right,” he says softly, and Patrick huffs out a shaky laugh. 

“I’m glad I did,” he says. “I’m happy I didn’t go through with it.”

Patrick can hear the unspoken _oh God, me too_ that Pete refrains from making.

“Why,” Pete asks instead. “Were you alone? I know it’s useless to lie and say I don’t know what happened at the Academy, because I know that you know Andy told me. But when you ran, why were you alone?”

“Where did my coven go, you mean,” Patrick asks wryly. “You can ask. I told you I was telling you.”

“I don’t want to push,” Pete says simply, and Patrick shoves down a sob.

“It’s hard for me to, to even begin,” Patrick says slowly. “There was a reason, Pete-when we got Brendon back and he was so close to dead and I was losing it? I mean, most of it was that Brendon almost _died_ and I didn’t know what to do to cope with that, but I remember I kept repeating-”

“You kept saying ‘he was burned’,” Pete fills in, and Patrick nods because he remembers. 

“I did,” he says. “It was like a punch to the stomach because-I- _fuck,_ I lost my coven when I was seven, Pete. The Sangsue attacked. They-they killed everyone right away except the Mage. My mother. They- oh _fuck-”_

He starts to cry, he can’t help it, because he’s never said this out loud before, and he doesn’t even know if he can force the sentence out. 

“She refused to join them,” Patrick whispers, trembling. “She thought they would threaten me, I’m sure, but they didn’t bother. They- they held me back and made me watch when they-oh _God-_ they burned her, Pete.”

Patrick feels Pete go stiff, his arms around Patrick tightening hard, and Patrick isn’t even upset because fuck the sentence is out there and he didn’t even think it would ever be. His grip on Pete’s arm is probably unbreakable, and he’s struggling to control his breathing, to control the hysterical tears that want to continue. 

“Patrick,” Pete breathes. “Patrick, I’m _sorry."_

Patrick buries his head in Pete’s neck and cries. 

\--

The rest of his confession came easier, even the Harvests were easier because Pete knew about those. Patrick tells him everything until he’s afraid he’s run dry of tears, and he agrees to Pete’s sedation. 

His eyes close to Pete’s face, curled up next to him, nose to nose.

\--

Patrick knows this is a dream, because he knows he’s twenty seven, not eighteen, but he’s watching the night he met Pete unfold in front of him anyway. 

He feels different about it, not rubbed raw and aching like he usually feels, just more-stable, he guesses. More secure.

He steps closer, through the rain that soaks him through within seconds, and approaches his younger self and Pete’s younger self. Pete’s hands are wrapped around his throat, teeth sunk deep into his neck, and Patrick sees the change in his younger face just as he feels it in his heart.

He doesn’t want to die.

He watches himself shock Pete away, watches his legs fail to support him as he slides down the brick wall. His eyes are closed, hand pressed to the deep bite wound, and Patrick cocks his head as he looks at his younger Pete. 

He’s getting up, shaking himself from the shock and looking at Patrick like he’s never seen anyone like that before. 

He approaches Patrick, and for the first time, Patrick sees Pete’s face in this scene clearly, not through the haze and confusion that his younger self was feeling. Patrick watches, jaw slightly open in disbelief, as Pete’s eyes _focus_ on him, recognizing Patrick as more than a meal. 

Watches as he realizes Pete is _there,_ that Pete came flying back to himself, or at least the self he was then, as he looks Patrick up and down.

Patrick can’t stop the slow grin on his face as he realizes the stuttering confusion written all over Pete’s face is Pete connecting with Patrick, whether he wants to or not. The confusion turns to anger that Patrick knows is Pete’s hatred of the _world_ at that time, and when Pete slams him back against the wall and kisses him, Patrick sees it like it’s brand new.

Pete remembers this. Pete has always and will _always_ remember this, because this is when Pete’s instincts settled on Patrick forever, and sure, Pete didn’t want that at the time but he couldn’t deny it, and can _never_ deny it. 

Patrick laughs softly as Pete shoves him back and licks roughly over the bite mark to close it before dropping him to the ground and turning to race away, like he would escape what was already set in motion. 

“Oh Pete,” Patrick whispers, hand pressed to his heart as he watches his younger self struggle to stand. “We were so full of promise that turned to precision so we could fucking attack the world, and oh _God_ there’s no one I’d rather live through that hell with than you.”

Patrick watches himself stagger off and wipes the combination of rain and tears that is dampening his face. He takes off his glasses and squints in the direction of where Pete ran, choking on another soft laugh as he sees that familiar head of dark hair slink out and watch Patrick leave, watch him to safety.

“I think I dreamt _you,”_ Patrick says softly. 

He turns away, closes his eyes, and breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, those are lyrics from "Saturday".
> 
> find me lurking at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com


End file.
